


Undefined

by orbythesea



Series: Rule Nor Reason [1]
Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbythesea/pseuds/orbythesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not dating. It doesn't mean anything. Really.  Georgetown era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undefined

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Liv and Kerstin.

They're not dating.

He has a girlfriend in Baltimore and she's got a sort-of-but-not-really-ex in Philly, so the very suggestion that they're dating is ridiculous.

They're friends. They're part of the same study group. They're not dating. Her roommate can tease her all she wants, but it won't make it true. Teasing can't turn a study session into a date, even when he does stay for two hours after everyone else has left and the bulk of the evening is filled with jokes instead of personal jurisdiction. They're not dating because sharing an order of cheese fries isn't a date when the conversation is focused on Contracts. 

They're not dating in October when a three-day weekend sends them their separate ways and they're not dating when her sort-of-but-not-really-ex boyfriend pulls her t-shirt over her head and nudges her jeans down over her hips. They're not dating when she closes her eyes and imagines hands that are rougher, a nose that is larger, and deep-set brown eyes that say more than words ever could. 

"Where are you?" Eric asks her, after, voice a whisper against her ear as he spoons her. 

( _They're_ not dating, either, but they did once. It's different.)

"Where am I? I'm right here, I think." She hesitates. "I'm thinking about Civ Pro." It's a half truth. It's all the truth she's willing to admit to herself. She's thinking about Civ Pro and how indignant Will gets when the rules don't line up with his vision of the world. She's thinking about Civ Pro.

"Thrilling stuff," Eric deadpans, soft fingers brushing against her belly. She shivers as he explores her skin. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," she murmurs. She does. She doesn't love him and he doesn't love her, but there's a reason they didn't cut ties after college. There's a reason she's in his bed tonight. She doesn't love him, but she likes him and she's not quite ready to let go. Not yet. She twists around to face him, nose brushing against his. "What do we do about that?"

"It's only two hours on the train," he points out. "And _I_ have every weekend free."

It's not what she meant. It's not even close to what she meant. Still, she doesn't tell him that. She lets her hands wander, takes exactly what she wants without saying a single word.

Will beats her back to DC on Sunday, and her roommate is waiting for her when she pushes through the door. "Will called," she says, sing-song. "Twice."

"Hi, Janice," Alicia says, smile far too wide to be genuine. "How was your weekend, did you remember to feed the cat, I had a great time in Philly thanks for– "

"I'm not asking you about Philadelphia, you're coming home from an extended booty call," Janice shoots back. "And your _boyfriend_ – "

"Not my boyfriend."

"– has called twice today so you should call him back." 

"And I will," she says, with a shrug. "Eric's coming down, weekend after next," she adds, prompting a raised eyebrow from Janice.

"Call Will," Janice says.

"After I take a shower."

She meets Will at the diner near his place, drops her backpack into the booth and slides in after it. "Good weekend?" she asks and he shrugs. "I had a good weekend," she offers. "I spent eighteen whole waking hours not studying. And I think I'm back with Eric. Maybe. Sort of." She frowns. She still doesn't know how that happened.

"I broke up with Helena," he says, and his eyes find and hold hers like a sad puppy asking for bone.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she is, but she can hear the question in her voice. His eyes are sad and deep and she thinks she could get lost in them, trying to figure him out. "I mean, if you're sorry."

Will's quiet for a while, just watching her, then he shakes his head. "Recklessness," he says, abruptly. "For Crim. I'm trying to figure out the difference between recklessness and negligence. In practice, I mean. I get the language, but can you think up a decent a decent example?"

"It's all about awareness of risk," she says. "It's… " She frowns, trying to think of an example. "If I'm not aware of the risk, but I should have been aware – if an ordinary person would have been aware – then I'm negligent," she says.

"Right, and if I'm aware of the risk and I go ahead and act anyway – if I consciously disregard a known risk – then I'm reckless, but I don't know if I can see it, outside of its dictionary definition. I don't know if I can spot it in the wild, yet."

"Okay. Right. So." She frowns. "Say… Say I'm driving through a school zone, and I know it's a school zone and I hope I don't hit any kids, but I don't slow down and, as a result, I do hit a kid. That's recklessness. But if I genuinely didn't know it was a school zone but I should have known, that's negligence?"

Will frowns. "Maybe?" 

They share a plate of biscuits and gravy and talk through hypos, spinning examples that are less and less grounded in the real world until he says, "So, here's one. If A knows that B is in love with her, and she breaks his heart, that's recklessness. But if she doesn't know but everyone else does, that's negligence?"

She blinks, reaches for her coffee cup, takes a sip. "Maybe? I– I don't think it's a crime, though. Breaking hearts." She swallows, hard. They're not dating, have never been dating. It's a hypo, like speeding down a residential street and accidental arson and dropping bowling balls out of a tenth floor window. That's all it is. "And just because everyone else knows, that doesn't mean that A should have known. How is anyone supposed to figure that out, anyway?"

"That someone's in love with them?" Will's studying her now, intensely. "I think– I don't think it's about knowing, I think it's about feeling."

Alicia nods, suddenly wishing for an excuse to break eye contact. "Maybe," she says. "I don't– I don't know."

Will shrugs, all of the intensity gone, suddenly. "The arson thing was probably a better example," he says.

They're still not dating in December when they've been holed up in her apartment studying for three days and neither of them have showered or eaten anything that couldn't be delivered. When they run out of coffee, Will stands so close to her in line at the café down the block that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. "I've got it, this time," he says, paying for her latte and the pound of coffee. When they decide to take a few minutes to sit in the café and tell each other everything they know about Rule 12, it's not a date. 

She forgot her gloves and when she rubs her hands together against the cold on the way back to her apartment, the fact that he reaches for her hand and holds it as they walk doesn't make whatever they're doing anything resembling dating. (That she walks a little bit slower than usual, already sad that he'll eventually let go, that doesn't mean anything, either. Neither does the fact he waits until the last possible moment to release her because they're in the middle of finals and she doesn't have time to think about what that means.)

They're not dating when the phone rings and it's Eric (again) and, exasperated, she tells him that whatever casual thing they have isn't working for her anymore. 

"I'm sorry," Will murmurs when she hangs up the phone and she blinks a few times, trying to understand what he's apologizing for.

"That?" she asks, then shakes her head. "Don't be. It was never– I never meant to start _dating_ him again, I just…." She blushes.

"Liked the sex?" Will supplies, and she can feel her blush deepen.

"No!" she insists, but he's looking at her with those eyes that seem to see past her skin and coax truths that she never meant to reveal from her lips. "Maybe," she admits. "That's awful, isn't it?"

Will shrugs. "Best stress relief I know."

They're not dating, so she doesn't tell him how stressed out she is about exams. "Yes, but– "

"Alicia," he says, and he reaches over the table to cover her hands with his. "You're not awful. You're not capable of awful."

When she rubs her fingertips against his palms and his breath hitches, she wonders _why_ they're not dating and she wants to ask him but then she hears the jangle of Janice's keys in her door.

Her flight to Chicago for Christmas with Owen is overbooked, and when they start offering vouchers to anyone willing delay travel for a day, she volunteers. It's a sound economic choice, a _rational_ choice, and it has nothing to do with knowing that Will's flying out in the morning. It's not as if she _knew_ she'd end up on his flight, and when it's delayed, the two hours spent drinking seasonally inappropriate margaritas in a bar at Dulles doesn't count as a date.

Alicia's undergrad roommate is at law school at Northwestern, and when Alicia called last week to say she'd be in town for a few days, Sheryl invited her to a New Year's Eve party. On the plane, Will mentions that one of his high school buddies is throwing a party at his girlfriend's place, and if Alicia doesn't have plans, she'd be welcome. Alicia declines, but when she knocks on Sheryl's door, Will answers.

It's a coincidence. It's not a date.

It's not a date, so when one of Sheryl's friends introduces her to a tall ASA with dark hair and an impish smile, there's nothing wrong with spending an hour sitting in a corner arguing with him about mandatory minimums, nothing wrong with leaning in a bit too close, laughing a bit too loudly, or drinking a little bit too much.

Well, not until a tiny blonde finds them and glares at her before turning her attention to Peter with an exaggerated " _There_ you are!" She isn't dating Will, so it's okay that she's disappointed when Peter introduces her to _his_ date. She forces a smile and excuses herself to go get a drink and she finds Will pouring champagne.

"I thought you left with that guy," he says, passing her a glass.

She shakes her head. "Peter? You know me better than that, don't you?"

Will just shrugs. "To 1992," he says, clinking his glass against hers. 

She smiles and clinks back. "To 1992," she agrees. "And good riddance to 1991."

He laughs. "I don't know, '91 wasn't so bad. We graduated from college, the Bulls won the championship, Gorbachev resigned–"

"Clarence Thomas got confirmed," she counters. "Freddy Mercury died. Tailhook–"

"Super Nintendo came out," he says, as if that ends the argument, then he smiles and adds, "You met me."

"Wait, you're saying that's a good thing?" she teases, and he pulls her into a hug as they laugh.

"Happy New Year," he murmurs, lips brushing against her ear. They're not dating, but he's close enough that for a moment she lets herself pretend that they are. She lets herself pretend that they're there _together_ , not just together. Lets herself imagine what it would be like to kiss him, to touch him, to– 

"Will?" she pulls away at the sound of his name and the next thing she knows some guy is grabbing at Will's arm and talking a mile a minute and it's all _What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in years! I thought you were in DC?_

She's had too much to drink and they're not dating when the clock strikes midnight, so it doesn't mean anything that she kisses him. It doesn't mean anything that he opens his mouth to her, that she leans into him when her knees threaten to give out, that his hands are in her hair, that her hands are everywhere. The electricity that runs through her is a purely biological response, just like his erection pressing against her belly. 

"Do you want to, um– ?" he breathes and his hands are on her ass now, holding her close. 

Her nod doesn't make it a date, and neither does the speed with which he navigates her out the door. 

"Where are we– ?" she asks as they wait for the elevator, his hands at her hips as she leans back, swaying just enough to make contact, to feel him getting hard again with each brush against him. "I'm on the couch, at Owen's– "

"Yeah, I'm at home. I mean, at my parents' and that's just– "

"Yeah, that's not– "

"We could get a hotel," he suggests, nipping at her ear.

"On New Year's Eve?"

The elevator doors open and they step inside. She's about to kiss him again when his eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"I have an idea." He presses the _stop_ button and her eyes go huge.

"Will," she says.

"Alone at last," he breathes. He kisses her. He slides a hand past her cheek and into her hair and just keeps kissing her.

"I don't want– Not here." She doesn't know if it's propriety or something else that holds her back. She doesn't say that for all of the hundreds of times she's thought about this, she never imagined that it would be quick, furtive thing in a semi-public place. She doesn't say that she imagined curling up in his arms, afterwards, doesn't say that she's embarrassed or ashamed, doesn't say that they should talk or not talk. Just presses the button to start the elevator moving again. "Not here."

"My folks are probably asleep," he offers. She considers it for a moment, is about to say that it's a bad idea, but then he's pressing her against the wall of the elevator. He kisses her mouth, her chin, her jaw, her ear. "I can be quiet if you can," he breathes.

They're not quiet. 

He trips over a dog toy in the foyer and she stubs her toe on the stairs. His bed squeaks and she makes him put on music to block out the sound. It's probably not enough, though. She knows it's not enough. He tugs her skirt and panties off and slides them down her legs before kissing his way back up, calf to knee to thigh to clit. She bites her lip, then buries her face in a pillow when she realizes that he has no intention of stopping.

"I want to see you," he whispers, reaching up to grab the pillow and toss it onto the floor. 

"I can't be quiet if you keep doing that." He has two fingers curled inside of her and her voice is shaky. 

"Oh yeah?" he asks. He grins before dipping down again, lips and tongue and fingers finding a rhythm that has her biting furiously at her lip and when she comes it's so damn good that she forgets to worry about who might hear.

"Shhh," he reminds her, resting his chin against her belly. 

"I warned you," she says, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

"That was the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he whispers.

"It wasn't," she murmurs.

"Yes," he counters, scooting up to scatter kisses against her collar bone. "It was. I could watch you unravel like that for the rest of my life."

She meets his eyes for a moment, then makes herself look away. This isn't a date. It isn't a relationship. It's hormones and champagne and the consummation of months of stolen glances and casual touches. It's sex. It's not life.

"My turn," she says, quick and decisive. She moves quickly enough that she's pretty sure he's still trying to figure out what she means when she pulls him into her mouth. It's been a while since she's done this, and it takes her a moment to remember how to relax enough to do it right.

He curses and pleads and whimpers and he slides his hands into her hair but he doesn't push her, doesn't try to control her until he abruptly pulls her away.

"You okay?" she breathes, hand still wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he sputters. "Stop for a second– " 

"Yeah?" she moves her hand a bit, testing him. "You need a second, Will?" He quickly tugs her wrist away, tense and twitching. 

She moves to lie beside him. "You okay?" she whispers when he's relaxed a bit.

He groans. "Even your voice," he says. "Fuck. I can't– "

"My voice?" She smirks, leans in to whisper in his ear. She drops her voice as much as she can, tries to make herself sound low and sultry. "Got a problem with my voice, Gardner?"

"Jesus, Alicia, I'm trying not to embarrass myself, here– "

She laughs. "You have a _Ghostbusters_ poster on your wall and you're worried about embarrassing yourself?" she teases.

"I haven't lived here since I was seventeen," he shoots back. "I haven't needed to redecorate."

"So you're telling me that you never got laid in high school," she teases, and he laughs, long and loud.

"Oh, I got laid in high school," he says. He rolls her onto her back, pulls a leg up around his hip and he's so, _so_ close to pushing inside her but he doesn't. "Caroline Eckart," he says. "I was a sophomore when she was a senior. And Jane Trout. Lacrosse player. Total kleptomaniac. She– "

"Hey Will?" She shifts her hips, grinding against him until he groans. "Stop talking."

"Anything you want," he breathes.

They're not even close to quiet. 

When they've finished, he wraps his arms around her and holds her close. "I should go," she whispers after a few minutes. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't want to meet your parents tomorrow."

"Want a ride?" he asks. "You're never going to get a cab."

When he kisses her goodbye in the car outside of Owen's apartment, it doesn't change anything, just like it doesn't change anything when they meet for lunch the next day. They've probably eaten a hundred lunches together since they met, so there's no reason that this one should be any different.

It's pizza, and it's Will, and it's comfortable and familiar so even though there are any number of things that she could say about last night, she's not about to fall into that cliché. He doesn't mention it, either, so lunch is relaxed and comfortable, like everything with him always is. When they leave, he reaches for her hand to guide her out the door and she lets him, not pulling away until they're outside. Still, it doesn't change anything. It's not a date, it's just Will. They walk back to his mom's car and he kisses her, there in the parking lot. Even that doesn't make it a date, though, because he promised he'd have the car back by three so he has to go.

They're still not dating when they get back to DC. School takes over most of their days and half of their nights and when they fall into bed together, it's not because they're dating but because they're friends and he knows that sometimes her mind just won't shut down long enough to let her sleep. It's not something they talk about, it's just something that happens, like the way she steals kisses from him in stairwells and library corners and late at night on abandoned Metro platforms.

"So, Will," Janice says one morning when Will's in the bathroom. She doesn't say anything more, just waits for Alicia to offer up some explanation.

"No," Alicia says. "It's not like that, it's just… " she doesn't know how to explain it, really. Doesn't know how to say that they aren't dating and he's not her boyfriend but that he's so much more than just a fuck buddy. She leans against the doorway to the kitchen, watching Janice make coffee. "We're friends," she starts, and that much she knows is true. "It doesn't mean– It's just– He's good at– It's just stress relief," she says, finally. "It's not like he's my boyfriend. It's not like it means– "

"Hey," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her from behind and she wonders how long he's been standing there. 

"Hey," she breathes, skin coming alive at his touch.

"Hey," Janice says, shooting Alicia a look that's entirely too knowing.

They're not dating, so when she spots him flirting with Carla Templeton a few days later, she has no reason to be jealous. She has no claim on him, nor he on her, so there's no reason that she can't tear her eyes away. There's no reason to be hurt or to wonder what it is about low-cut shirts over push-up bras that men find so irresistible. She has no reason to tell him, later, that Carla's trying too hard. When he asks if she objects to making it an early night, there's no reason to offer him a map in case he gets lost in Carla's cleavage. She doesn't make the offer, doesn't tell him that _yes_ , actually, she does mind. She doesn't ask him what they're doing or how much of her attempt to explain it he heard. When he leaves her alone in the library, there's no reason that she can't focus. 

When Janice comes home from a run a week later and tells her that she saw Will slipping out of Carla's building, Alicia just shrugs and pours milk into her breakfast cereal. It doesn't mean anything, so she has no right to be jealous or hurt. No right to care, really. They aren't dating. Were never dating. He can sleep wherever he wants, with whomever he wants. He can do that, and so can she, so when Kenny Dixon asks if she wants to grab dinner and a movie sometime, there's no reason not to say yes.

There's no reason not to say yes when Kenny tells her that a bunch of the guys have been putting together a team and does she want to watch him play second base in a friendly game against some guys from American University. There's no reason to ask if Will knows, and when she spots him across the field, there's no reason to be hurt that he didn't tell her. They're not dating, but she can't tear her eyes away from the pitcher's mound. She knows how good he is with his hands, so it doesn't mean much that watching him cup the ball makes her think of his hands on her breasts, doesn't mean much that by the time he strikes out AU's best batter in top of the eighth she's already decided to blow Kenny off for the rest of the afternoon to insist that Will help her with Property, to curl up on her sofa and study and kiss, to scratch whatever itch it is that's building deep in her belly. 

"What did I miss?" Carla Templeton plops down next to Alicia on the bleachers, and Alicia does her best not to wince.

"We're up three-nothing," Alicia supplies. "That was the second out."

Carla nods. "Will's probably getting tired," she says. "Last night, he told me he was nervous because he's never played without a relief pitcher before."

Alicia shrugs. It doesn't mean anything that he's not just screwing Carla, he's confiding in her. It doesn't mean– None of it means anything. "He hasn't pitched since the surgery," she says. "That's probably what he meant." 

Will strikes out the next batter and Carla applauds in her seat, cheering too loudly and Alicia can't suppress her wince, this time. He can date anyone he wants, though, so Alicia tries to ignore it and turns her attention to Kenny who's looking kind of bored from his spot on the baseline. 

Afterwards, they end up at some bar and Alicia tries to get Will's attention but _everyone_ wants to talk to Will and Carla's glued to his side.

"You wanna get out of here?" she asks Kenny.

"I was about to order nachos," he says, confused. "Another hour?"

"No." Will's got a hand on Carla's ass. "Now." She hooks her fingers into Kenny's belt loops and pulls him towards her, eyes looking over his shoulder and straight into Will's as their hips meet. "Please?"

It takes a moment for realization to dawn, then Kenny nods. "Yeah. Now's good."

She releases him and moves towards the door. When her arm brushes against Will's on her way out, it's a coincidence and an accident. When his fingers close around her wrist for a moment, it's to stop her from walking into a waitress carrying a tray of shot glasses. She looks back at him with a curious smile and he shoots her a look that leaves her aching and sad. "We're heading out," she says. "Wanna drill Property tomorrow?"

Will nods, his thumb moving over the veins of her wrist for a moment and she has to remind herself how to breathe. "Ten?" he asks. "Or earlier, if you want. Whenever, really."

"Ten," she says. "Don't be late."

It takes everything she has not to glance back at him as Carla's laughter cuts through the white noise.

Kenny's not nearly as good with his hands.

Will leaves the library by seven most nights.

Opponents for moot court try-outs are randomly assigned, so of _course_ she ends up with Will. She does her best not to look at him as she delivers her argument, and the first time she's interrupted for a question, she slips into her answer and she doesn't have to try. She keeps her voice even and she thinks that she's doing alright. Thinks that she's actually pretty good at this. Her fingers are gripping the podium until she releases it to emphasize a point. Then she's down to one minute and she wraps up before thanking the judges and shooting Will a grin as he stands, prepared to rip her arguments apart. For all that she was good, _he_ is incredible, and he's three minutes in to his argument before she remembers to take notes, to figure out which points she needs to rebut. It's a struggle, and she's distracted by the way his suit makes him look like a grownup, the intensity of his voice, the skill with which he pivots back to the points he wants to make when the judges take him off topic. He's _good_ and it makes her stomach flip flop in ways that are wholly inappropriate so she channels that, uses it to help herself focus. He smirks at her and when she stands to deliver her rebuttal, she hits her point solidly and clearly, shamelessly rips apart one of his arguments and then it's over.

She sits back down to listen to the judges' feedback, but her eyes are on Will's and he's staring right back and the second they're out the door he's pressing her against the wall and brushing hair out of her face as he tells her how well she did.

" _You_ were great," she counters. "You were– "

He kisses her, right there in the hallway where anyone could see and it's hard and possessive and Carla and Kenny be damned. 

"My place," she breathes against his mouth. "It's closer."

"We've got Property in an hour," he reminds her, tugging her blouse untucked so that his fingers can find the bare skin of her belly.

"Don't care." It doesn't mean anything that she's never missed a class but is more than happy to break that streak.

She grabs his hand and they practically run back to her apartment. His tie gets left in the elevator, both of their jackets and shoes are abandoned as soon as they make it through the front door. When he pushes inside of her, his trousers are still caught around one of his ankles and her skirt is bunched up around her waist and she feels a laugh building from deep in her belly but then his fingers are on her clit and it turns into a groan.

They're both so wound up that it doesn't take long and they could probably still make it to Property. When she moves to get dressed, though, he pulls her close and presses a soft kiss against the spot behind her ear. "We're not going to miss anything you can't figure out on your own," he whispers.

"And teach you, later?" she teases, elbowing him in his ribs and pulling free. "I don't want the dry cleaner to look at me funny," she adds, stepping out of her skirt and studying it for any evidence of the abuse they just put it through.

Will laughs and pulls his boxers back on. "What makes you think I'm not going to get stuck teaching _you_?" he asks. 

Alicia arches an eyebrow at him and steps into a pair of sweatpants. "Attempt," she says, simply. 

Will ducks his head. "Yeah, I still don't think I got all of it," he admits. 

They smile at each other, and she remembers last December, laying on her back on the sofa, eyes closed as she tried to articulate the difference between the substantial step and dangerous proximity tests. She was yawning, relaxed, and they were more comfortable with each other, then. Less guarded. "How's Carla?" she asks.

Will blinks, then shrugs. "She's fine," he says. "She's fun." 

"Good. I wasn't sure if you guys were still… "

"Yeah, I guess." Will sighs, watching her. "We're not exclusive, or anything, so don't– "

"I didn't," she says, and it's a strange thing to realize. She considers it for a moment, just to be sure, and no, she doesn't feel guilty. Not in the slightest.

"And Kenny? How's he doing?"

"He's– We're not– I don't know," she admits, after a moment. She pulls a shirt on and sits down on the bed, crossing her legs in front of her. "I think I'm kind of letting things fizzle, there." It's not entirely true. She's not so much thinking of letting things fizzle as thinking about _why_ she let things fizzle as quickly as she did. There was that one time, after the game, and a few dates and goodnight kisses, after that, but... "He doesn't make me laugh," she adds.

Will's watching her, eyes soft and sad and she reaches for him, pulls him next to her on the bed.

"Leesh," he whispers, fingers tracing gentle circles against her knee. "What is this?"

"What is…?" She's buying time, time to find the right words, the ones that will keep him close but not too close. The ones that can melt whatever weird tension has been building between them over the past few weeks while still letting her retain dignity, retain _identity._ Whatever they are, she doesn't want to give it a name and she's not entirely sure why.

"I just… Is this something? Or is it just about stress relief?" His voice is hurt and she thinks _fuck_. 

She wonders if he heard everything that day with Janice, if all of this has been about getting back at her. Back at her for what, though? For not knowing how to answer a question? For being unwilling to talk to Janice about something they'd never talked about themselves? 

"I– " She tugs her legs up to her chest. There are so many things that she could say, but she doesn't know which words are the right ones. Doesn't know how to tell him that she is hurt and angry and afraid, that she's jealous of Carla even though she has no right to be. "I think today was about you looking really good in a suit." She smiles, tries to make it a joke, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth she knows that she picked the wrong door to try to drag him through. "I don't know," she adds, voice softer. "I don't– I don't want things to be awkward, with us. And they have been, and I just– I don't want that."

"I don't want that, either," he whispers. "I so don't want that." He hesitates. "How are you sleeping?"

"I– I'm not, really," she admits. It's as close as she will let herself come to saying that she misses him, and she's not sure why the words are so hard to say.

Will sighs, pulling one of her legs straight to rub at her calf. 

"My mom's getting married again," she says. "To that guy she met in Alaska. Or the one from Rhode Island. I kind of lost track."

"The retired I-Banker?" he asks. "Or the architect?"

Alicia shakes her head. "No, the Formula One driver, I think."

"Did you tell me about him?" he asks. "Jordan? Jerry?"

"Jason." Alicia's quiet for a moment, watching his hands. "I don't– I don't know how to put a label on this," she says. "I don't want to put a label on it."

Will takes a deep breath. "Then we won't," he says, softly. "We just… stop being weird."

She nods. "Just like that?" she murmurs, eyes moving up to meet his. "We just decide that?"

"Just like that," he breathes. "Everything's back to normal."

It is, for a while. Mostly normal, anyway. They go back to not dating, but Will sleeps in her bed more often than he doesn't and she doesn't pull away as quickly when he reaches for her hand as they walk to school, as they sit in class, as they buy coffee and share cheese fries. She brings books to baseball games, watches him pitch and studies when he's sitting in the dugout. She apologizes to Kenny, who shrugs it off. The next weekend, Eileen Chao is there, cheering Kenny on from the bleachers so she doesn't feel too bad. Carla's still around more often than she would like, but she doesn't ask Will about it. They're not dating. They're getting back to normal. She has no right to feel jealous and she certainly has no right to make him feel guilty for something she's never asked him not to do. 

It goes back to normal until May when her period's supposed to start in the four days between their last two exams and it doesn't. She blames it on stress, but when she swallows the last sugar pill in the pack the day after their Con Law exam, she lets herself get scared. She tells herself that it doesn't mean anything, but after five minutes of staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, she doesn't really believe it.

"You okay in there?" he calls, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Breakfast's ready."

The thought of eating makes her sick but she nods at her reflection, orders herself to snap out of it. She slides into her chair in front of a plate of pancakes and bacon but she can't bring herself to take a bite. "I, um. I need to tell you something," she says. Her voice is shaky and she takes a deep breath, forces the words out even though she can't look at him. "My period's five days late."

She's not looking at him, but he can feel him staring at her. "You– I don't– You're– ?"

"I don't know," she says, finally daring to lift her head. "I mean, I know it's late, but I haven't– I think it's probably just stress and forgetting to eat, but I just– " She doesn't think it's stress. She wants to, wants him to, but the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that no, she's probably– She shakes her head before she can finish the thought. "It's probably nothing," she says.

"There are tests, right?" His voice is soft and controlled and she wishes she could get inside his head, wishes she knew what he was thinking. "You can get a test?"

"Yeah," she says. "Yes. I will, I just– " She doesn't know why, but the way he says _you_ not _we_ feels like a punch to the gut. "So I'm going to, um, I'll get a test. I'll let you know."

He looks down. "Okay," he says. "Please do. I mean– " He looks up at her. "I mean, I can come with you, if you want."

She closes her eyes, nodding. "Yeah," she whispers. "I really, really do."

By the time they get back from the CVS around the corner, her hands are shaking so badly that she almost has to ask for his help to hold the stick steady. She doesn't, though. She doesn't ask, but after she's washed her hands she lets herself lean against him for support, eyes squeezed shut as her lips form a silent prayer to a God she doesn't believe exists.

Will wraps his arms around her and stares silently ahead. She wants to ask what he thinks, but she's afraid to hear the answer and they'll know soon enough, either way. She wants him to tell her that everything will be okay, regardless of the result, but he doesn't. He strokes her hair and holds her, but he doesn't offer up any platitudes, even when platitudes are exactly what she needs to hear.

It's negative. She wants to cry with relief and she sends him back to the store for another one, just in case. 

"You okay?" he asks when the second test confirms the first.

"Yes," she says, smiling. "Relieved." She laughs. "That was one hell of a bullet we dodged."

"Yeah," he whispers, reaching for her hand. "I guess it was." His fingers are soft and warm and his gaze is sad. If things were different, if _they_ were different, she might have asked if he'd been hoping that she was. They're not, though, neither individually or together. He sleeps in her bed and steals food from her plate and makes her laugh harder than anyone she's ever known, but they're not _together_ and maybe that makes all the difference. 

She closes her eyes for a moment, tries to imagine what she would have done if the test had gone the other way. In her head, she sees Owen teasing her because wasn't she the one who taught him about condoms, last summer before he left for college? She imagines her mother laughing, telling her that it's really not that big of a deal and if she's that worried about school why doesn't she just get an abortion and be done with it? She hears her father's voice, kind and encouraging but _disappointed_ because he still thinks of her as his little girl. 

"I– " she swallows, hard. 

Of course, she could have just not told them. She could have called and made an appointment at a clinic, could have scraped together however much it would have cost. Will might go with her. He might even insist on it. She imagines them sitting together in a waiting room, his hand reaching for hers. He would probably try to keep her mind off of it, would make jokes and try to make her giggle but it would just make people look at them. Make people look at _her_. Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would look at her with those sad, pleading eyes and whisper "Are you sure about this?" She would be sure, by then, but he would look at her with those eyes that were begging her to change her mind and she wouldn't be able to say no to him.

"I think– Whatever we– Whatever we're doing, I think we should– I think we should pause it," she says. It's the smart thing to do. They're not dating and she's not ready to be a mother, doesn't know if she'll ever be ready, if she even _wants_ to be ready, but if he looked at her with those eyes, she would become one anyway and _that_ is even more terrifying than the thought of being pregnant at all. She knows without looking that Will's not happy about it. "It's the smart thing to do," she adds, as if that will make it better, somehow.

"Don't do this," he breathes. "Alicia, I know this scared you but don't– Don't do this."

"It's the smart thing," she says, opening her eyes to look at him. "For both of us. And it's not like we'll even be in the same city this summer, so– "

"I– Okay," he says. He won't look at her. "I'm gonna– I'm gonna go."

They were never dating, so it's not exactly a breakup. Still, she spends the next two days curled up on the sofa eating ice cream from the carton. He doesn't call or stop by and she misses him. On the third day, she walks over to his apartment to tell him as much, but when she gets there Chrissy Paige opens the door wearing one of his Cubs shirts and nothing else. "I thought you were pizza," she says. "Will's in the shower."

Alicia mumbles not to worry about it and goes home to Häagan Dazs and Janice's judgment.

Two weeks later, she's been in Chicago for a week and Sheryl Gilbert invites her over for dinner with friends. Alicia spends the evening sitting next to the tall ASA from New Year's Eve and she hears the words, "It's funny, my friend Will said the exact same thing last week," coming out of her mouth.

Peter arches an eyebrow at that. "Friend, or…?" 

"Friend," she says, quickly. She wants to say more and almost does, but the words get caught in her throat. "Study buddy," she adds. It's simpler, that way. It's understandable.

The look on Peter's face is knowing, but it's the wrong kind of knowing and she decides to let him be mistaken. Whatever she and Will are, they defy definition and she doesn't want to explain that. "I just mean– We were in the same section, same classes, and we just… "

"Studied together," Peter supplies, and he makes it all sound so innocent. "I get that."

She nods, smiles, and lets him believe it. She tries to make herself believe it, for a moment. Tries to make herself believe that they were just friends, were never anything more. She pushes the memory of his touch away and her mind feels clearer than it has in months. Will is her friend. They studied together. There's no reason to dwell on the rest of it.

By the time Peter calls two days later, she's almost convinced herself that it's true.

"Dinner," Peter says. "And a basketball game."

"Like a date?" Alicia asks. "Or like 'I have tickets and my buddy bailed on me?'"

"Oh, it's a date," he says. "Unless you'll only say yes if I make up a buddy."

"Yeah," she says. "Yes. It's a date."

 _A_ date turns into two, two into three, and she's surprised to discover that just how much she _likes_ him, how much she likes knowing exactly where she stands. There's something comforting about doing something that can be defined and neatly categorized. He sends roses to her office after their first night together, and there's no discussion to have or not have the next day. 

"He's courting you," Owen says when she tells him about the flowers. "I'm told that's what straight men do."

"Is he?" Alicia smiles at the thought. "I think he's got me."

"Just don't tell him that," Owen warns her. "Nothing's scarier than the prospect of a date becoming a relationship."

"You think?" She almost tells him about Will, then. Almost tells him that the scariest thing isn't a date becoming a relationship, the scariest thing is a relationship becoming a date. She doesn't, though. There are some things she can't even explain to herself, much less to someone else. There are memories she's trying to forget. "I like it, whatever it is."

In August, Peter casually mentions that he can fly out on weekends, if she wants. He says it like it doesn't matter, but it does, and they both know it. "I'd like that," she says. "I'd like that a lot."

He does and she does, and when Janice asks about him she shrugs and says, "He's my boyfriend." It's an easy statement and she doesn't hesitate. "We're dating."

She spends her weekends with Peter and, during the week, instead of falling back into bed with Will, she runs up her long distance bill telling Peter about her classes and her internship and her friends and she likes the simplicity of it.

Sometimes, she looks up from her casebook to catch Will watching her, eyes deep and sad. "What?" she asks him, the first time.

"Nothing," he says, and she wonders when they started lying to each other, wonders if maybe they always have. They were never dating, though, were never _defined_ so she doesn't press the issue. Whatever they had, it's over, and Will has moved on more thoroughly than she has, if even half of the gossip is to be believed. 

She's with Peter, and it's not something she and Will talk about until Spring Break when Peter comes out for the entire week.

"I have to study," she warns him, and he just smiles. "I know. So study. I'll be a tourist."

It's not something they talk about until she falls asleep on the sofa reading her Trusts and Estates outline and, when she wakes up, there's a blanket draped over her and Will is sitting across the room, just watching her.

"What time is it?" she murmurs.

"After six," he tells her. They're quiet for a moment, then he adds, "I always liked watching you sleep."

"Okay," she says. "I'm going to pretend that's not creepy."

He laughs. "No, I just meant– It's nice, seeing you able to relax, and you used have a hard time sleeping, so… "

"I still do," she admits and immediately regrets it. She sits up and tugs her knees up to her chest. "I mean– I don't think I've ever really slept well."

"You used to," Will says, softly. "Sometimes. After– "

"Yeah." She cuts him off as quickly as she can. She doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't want to think about the way he used to run his fingers through her hair, whispering nonsense about bands he liked or sports scores until the voices in her own head were drowned out enough to let her close her eyes. She doesn't want to think about the way he would be waiting when for her to come back when she got up in the middle of the night, doesn't want to think about the way he used to hold her or soothe her or touch her, depending on what she needed in the moment. 

Will keeps pushing, though. "What about Peter?" he asks. "Doesn't he help?"

"He does," Alicia says. _Sometimes_ , she wants to add. "He's a pretty heavy sleeper, though, and when he's out he's _out_ so… "

Will nods. "Are you happy?" he asks, softly. "In general, with Peter, just– Are you– ?"

"I am, yes," she says. She studies him for a moment. "Both. I like– I like knowing where I stand." She doesn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, but she thinks that it kind of does. "I mean– " She doesn't know what she means. It's not fair, really, saying it now. She spent five months actively avoiding clarification, avoiding certainty. Then again, so did he. They never talked about it, never put a name to it. Maybe if they had there wouldn't have been Carla or Kenny. Maybe they would have talked instead of standing in grim silence as they waited to find out if she was pregnant. Maybe she could have told him more about her own mother, could have told him that she doesn't want kids, that she doesn't want to be _that._ "Yes," is all she says. "Yes, I'm happy."

Will looks away, then shakes his head. "I should go. He'll probably be back, soon."

"No, stay," she suggests. "Get dinner with us."

"That's not a good– I don't want to be in the way." She's about to tell him that he's not in the way when he shakes his head. "He doesn't like me, Alicia."

"He doesn't know you," she counters. "He doesn't know– "

Will laughs at that, and it's a harsh, bitter sound. "Alicia, he knows," he says. "He _knows_."

She blinks. "What do you– ? I never– Will, _I_ don't even know what we were, how can you– ?"

"Forget it," he mumbles. "I'm gonna go." He gathers up his things and his hand is on the doorknob before he speaks again. "He's in love with you," he whispers. His voice is so soft that she has to struggle to make out his words. "He knows what it looks like."

By the time she's processed the words, the door is closed behind him and she's not entirely sure that she heard him correctly, not entirely sure that he meant what she thinks he meant. 

Peter gets back a few minutes later and she decides not to think about it. They weren't dating, and whatever they were, it was never supposed to be _that._ It was never supposed to be that and it was a long time ago and it's over and she probably misheard him anyway.

"I love you," Peter whispers later that night and she smiles.

"I love you, too," she says, and she means it so that's that, really.

He proposes on New Year's Eve of her 3L year. He doesn't make a big deal of it, just sets a small box in the center of the table after the waiter has cleared their dinner dishes.

"Hey," he murmurs, watching her. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Peter," she breathes. She doesn't dare open the box. "I don't– We've talked about this." They have. She's told him about her parents, told him that she's never seen a marriage that lasted, never seen happily ever after not end in heartbreak. 

"You're not your mother, Alicia." He plucks the box from the center of the table and holds it out to her. "I love you. You love me. I want to marry you. That's all this is."

She hesitates, then nods. "I– " He slides the ring onto her finger and she looks up at him, sees love and trust and devotion and for a moment, she lets herself believe in happy endings. "Yes," she whispers.

When she goes back to DC for her last semester, she doesn't tell anyone, but everyone knows within a few days. Peter picked the kind of diamond that people _notice_ and it feels strange on her finger. She quickly develops the habit of twisting it around when she's nervous and after a week Will finally brings it up.

"Aren't you worried you're going to get mugged, walking around at night with that thing?" he asks.

"I– " She looks away. "A little," she admits. "It is kind of… conspicuous."

"Ostentatious is the word I would have chosen," he says. "But congratulations. I'm sure you'll be really happy together." There's no warmth in his voice, and she wants to apologize, somehow. She wants to explain. 

"It just kind of happened," is all she can manage. "I mean, he asked, and I just– "

"Yeah," he says. "I get it. You love him. You _should_ marry him."

"You really think so?" she asks. She needs to know, suddenly. She needs him to understand, needs him to _approve._

Will nods. "I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him." He closes his eyes. "It's like watching you sleep," he whispers. "Like you're actually comfortable in your own skin."

She doesn't know if he means it or not, but it's enough. 

"I– " There is so much she wants to say, but all she can manage is "Thank you."

"Anytime," Will says. "What are friends for, anyway?" He puts on a smile and she puts on a smile and they go back to their casebooks.

It's their last semester and she has a hard time getting motivated but Will pours himself into the work with a kind of dedication she's never seen from him. He pushes her harder than she's ever been pushed, and she lets him and she thinks it's the happiest she's ever been. They work hard, work through hunger and exhaustion and she's so busy working that even when Peter's in town, she doesn't let herself sleep. She works until she makes herself sick and she spends the study period before exams throwing up everything that she tries to put in her system.

"Come on," Will says, finally. She's sitting on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed against the wall. "We're taking you to a doctor."

"I'm fine," she mumbles, but she lets him take her anyway.

The urgent care place hands her a clipboard of paperwork to fill out, and all it takes is a look before Will's plucking it from her hands and filling in her answers for her. "You look really pathetic right now," he says after she's reminded him that her father has diabetes so there is something to mention in her family history.

"Shut up," she mumbles. "What's next?"

"You've never given birth," he mumbles, checking off the box. "Never been pregnant." He checks another box. "Date of last– " 

"Shit." She closes her eyes. "End of March, I think."

"It's May 13th," he says, expressionless.

"Yes," she confirms. "Yes, it is."

"You, um. Do you want to wait to do this until Peter gets in next week?"

She takes a deep breath. "No," she says, quickly. "No." She doesn't know why, doesn't know how to explain it. "I don't know if it's something that he needs to know," she whispers. Will blinks, and she waits until understanding passes over his face before she speaks again. "I mean, it might be, but I don't– Before I think about that, I want to know."

An hour later, he reaches for her hand on the Metro back to her place. "You have to tell him," he whispers. "Whatever you decide, you have to tell him."

She doesn't say anything, just stares straight ahead.

"For Christ's sake, Alicia, you're getting married next month. You can't get an abortion and keep it secret."

He's right. He's right and she hates that he's right and she squeezes his hand as tightly as she can as she nods. "If it had been us," she says, voice soft and hesitant. "Two years ago, if it had been us, would you have wanted– ?"

"I would have wanted it," he whispers. "I _did_ want it. The timing was terrible, but walking through the store to get the test, all I could think about was how great a mom you were going to be, how great it was going to be to raise a kid with you." 

"Will." She swallows hard.

"But then I realized that it was never going to happen," he says. "Watching you, when we were waiting for the test to– the way you were just so– " He shakes his head. "It was never going to be us, was it?"

She doesn't know how to answer that, doesn't know the right words to say. "I never knew what we were," she says, softly. "I still don't."

The train stops and they're on the escalator before he speaks. "We're friends though," he says. "Whatever happens, we're friends."

"Absolutely," she agrees. "Always."

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer** : This isn't legal advice. It's just a bit of explanatory information about some of the legal stuff discussed in the fic. If you are facing a legal dispute, please consult an attorney licensed to practice in your jurisdiction and do not rely on anything contained here for guidance. 
> 
> **Recklessness and Negligence**  
>  Here, Will and Alicia are talking about two of the four mental states ( _mens rea_ ) required for criminal culpability under the Model Penal Code § 2.02. (The other two are purposely and knowingly.) The MPC isn't law, it's a sample or model code promulgated by the American Law Institute. Many states have adopted some, most, or all of its provisions and courts will use it in interpreting what a law means. What the _mens rea_ does is make it so a criminal defendant is only guilty of an offense of the prosecution can prove not only that they did the act proscribed in the criminal statute but also that they had the requisite mental state. Imagine an offender who isn't aware that is conduct is risky but should have been aware of the risk. That's a negligent mental state. If a statute says the type of harm is unlawful committed recklessly, the offender would not be guilty of violating the statute because he wasn't aware of the risk - i.e., he didn't have a reckless _mens rea_ , he had a negligent _mens rea_.
> 
>  **Mandatory Minimums**  
>  Under federal law, a defendant convicted of certain federal crimes must receive a mandatory minimum sentence, and judges are not allowed to go below that level (with some exceptions for defendants with minimal criminal history who are convicted of or plead guilty to non-violent drug offenses in which guns were not involved. _See_ 18 U.S.C. § 3553(e)). Prior to 2010, there was a big disparity for in mandatory minimum sentences imposed for crack and powder cocaine, which many, many commentators have argued was racist. The data supports this assertion insofar as black defendants are MUCH more likely to be convicted of crack-cocaine offenses as compared to white defendants who are more likely to be convicted of powder-cocaine offenses. All that said, there are those who argue that mandatory minimums are essential to fighting drug crime. (I tend to vehemently disagree with them, so apologies if this paragraph seems overly critical.)
> 
>  **Moot Court**  
>  Moot Court is fake appellate court, basically. Law students typically have to try out to get on the team at their respective law schools and, once they're on the team, they participate in competitions in which they do simulated arguments before a panel of competition judges. An appellate argument is an appeal. It's advanced before appellate judges and it's an argument that's solely legal in nature. No testimony is heard, no witnesses called. We haven't seen much appellate argument on the show - the argument Will makes before the judges in the first season episode "Conjugal" might be the only time we've seen appellate advocacy in canon. Moot Court try-outs typically pit two students in the same class against one another to research and write a brief, then argue it before a panel of "judges" - members of the Moot Court team and, sometimes, professors. Each side gets a certain amount of time - typically ten minutes in a try-out. The person representing the party appealing a lower court decision argues first and usually reserves some time for rebuttal, only 1 or 2 minutes in a try-out situation. Just as in real appellate arguments, judges will interrupt the student/lawyer to ask questions about the law, and lawyers/students have to answer the questions but will generally want to pivot back to their own argument as quickly as possible so as to make all of their points. After the first lawyer/student argues, the lawyer/student for the party for whom the trial court decided makes an argument. This person doesn't get rebuttal time. 
> 
> Moot Court is different from Mock Trial. In Mock Trial, students compete in simulated trial competitions similar to what Will mock-judges in the season 1 episode "Mock" (though that was a trial advocacy class, not a mock trial competition.)


End file.
